


A Punch To The Heart

by phantomuser1967



Category: Punch-Out!! (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff, How Do I Tag, M/M, my first fic uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomuser1967/pseuds/phantomuser1967
Summary: Finally, he looked forward.His gaze was met with a dark skinned torso, largely unlike his own, more broad and masculine. And completely unblemished. Dragging his gaze upwards, past huge pectorals and frowning lips, he was finally met with a familiar face.Sandman.
Relationships: Glass Joe/Mr. Sandman
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	A Punch To The Heart

**Author's Note:**

> the lack of content for this fandom is disappointing so im here to fix that you’re welcome

Glass Joe flew backwards, his only saving grace being the ropes of the boxing ring, liberating him from what could have been an impactful fall. Scarlet rivulets of warm blood dribbled from his nose, streaking downwards and into the crease of his bruised lips, its metallic taste making him cringe.

His heart thrumped wildly in his chest, as if threatening to burst from within him. A horrible single toned ringing filled his ears, seemingly blocking out any other sound. His gaze was glassy and unfocused; one eye so contused and swollen he could barely open it. He risked a glance at himself.

Dark, purple bruises discolored his pale skin, all littered around the expanse of his bony chest, throbbing with pain. The rest of his torso was filled with blotchy, bleeding patches of skin that stung like hell.

A sight for sore eyes. Literally.

His slim frame shook as he attempted to right himself, his gloved fists trembling with the excursion, muscles straining. He succeeded, but immediately regretted it when he had to support his own weight, knobby knees shaking. His body felt heavier than it has any business to.

He breathed deeply, sound finally beginning to flood his ears once again, his eardrums immediately assaulted by the deafening roar of the crowd around him, clashed only by the rush of blood in his ears. He surveyed his surroundings, drinking in the image of the screaming fans whooping and hollering, crazily waving signs with sharpie written messages Joe didn’t take the time to read. Some were absolutely livid, but all were unknown faces that he would never see or remember again.

Finally, he looked forward.

His gaze was met with a dark skinned torso, largely unlike his own, more broad and masculine. And completely unblemished. Dragging his gaze upwards, past huge pectorals and frowning lips, he was finally met with a familiar face.

_Sandman_.

A name that would surely draw fear from any boxer at WVBA, least of all Joe. A force to be reckoned with, the world champion of the ring, his larger physique towered over Joe’s quivering one. His charcoal eyes seemed devoid of any emotion, the corners of his fell to a scornful frown, exposing the whites of his teeth, something foreign to the Frenchman when associating himself with the other, the sight settling a deep weight in his gut. He felt terrible.

Thick brows furrowing, yet still no telltale sign of any kind of recognition, as if Joe was just an obstacle obstructing his way, Sandman stepped forward towards the smaller boxer, his strides filled with purpose, yet mechanical, as if he was programmed for such an action, the will not of his own. He came to a stop not even a foot away from the other, his looming form casting a dark shadow that covered the entirety of Joe’s body, blocking the overly bright arena lights from his view.

Joe’s breathes became harsh with his escalating dread, already knowing what was coming next. His eyes grew wide in fear at the sight of the imposing man before him, (yet again, foreign to him) a frown tugging at his lips.

Wordlessly, emotionlessly, mechanically, Sandman raised his own gloved, unshaking fist, level with his head, and as if one cue, Joe’s heart once again began to steadily beat faster, fear pooling into his gut. The broad immensity of Sandman’s chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply, facial expression suddenly hardening, icy and distant, shooting pangs through Joe’s heart.

Preparing himself for the final blow, Joe tensed, cringing away from the man in front of him, shoulders raised and expecting impending pain. The cheering from the crowd made a sharp crescendo at Sandman’s shown actions, lively and anticipating the end of the match. Now, hurt physically and emotionally, all Joe could do was wait.

And yet, Sandman hesitated.

If you were sitting amongst the rest of the audience, you wouldn’t have even taken notice. But Joe did, and not because he stood less than a foot away from the other, but because he knew Sandman. For a split second, something flashed in the American’s eyes, and it was only after his fist swung down, connecting with the Frenchman’s jaw, sending him crashing to the floor, pain wracking his body, vision getting blurry, the shrieking of the audience damaging his ear drums, that he knew what it was.

_Regret_.

**-**

After fumbling with the keys for a moment, the lock clicked, allowing Joe entrance to his apartment. Shutting and locking the door behind him, he ambled into the living room, setting his duffle bag onto the couch, the T.V already on, its flashing imagery seemingly dull to the Frenchman as he paid it no mind, his thoughts occupied.

Kicking off his shoes, he set them in the hall, staring into space, his mind reliving the day’s earlier events.

“Hey.”

The rich baritone of the greeting voice broke the monotonous sound of the television, as well as Joe’s daydreaming. A voice he didn’t want to hear at the moment.

Slowly, as to show no apparent interest, Joe craned his head to see the large form of Mr. Sandman sitting at the kitchen table, (the kitchen and the living room both being connected with a wide open doorless frame) broad back facing Joe while his head was turned to face him, his face not giving way to emotion. Furrowing his brows, Joe huffed, giving no response.

“...your eye’s pretty swollen.”

This time, not waiting for a response, Sandman stood, his chair scraping against the plank flooring. Walking over towards the refrigerator, he opened the freezer half and pulled out an ice pack. Making his way into the living room, he stood before Joe, offering him the object.

The Frenchman’s features hardened (something usually unheard of) as he crossed his arms over his chest, his stance showing unabashed defiance. He didn’t even look the other in the eye, instead opting to stare at framed artwork hung on the wall.

“...don’t be like that,”, Sandman said after a moment, frowning at the other’s body language, “you know how it is…”

Joe’s fists clenched, brows furrowed further, his frame practically shaking with anger.

“Why did you hesitate?”, he finally responded.

“Joe, I jus-“, Sandman began, but the other cut him off.

“You thought I couldn’t handle it? You thought I was weak? Pitiful?”, tears stung at his eyes, threatening to fall. Joe blinked them away, not wanting to prove his point.

“You _lost_ , Joe”, Sandman hissed through his teeth, apparently fed up and out of any remaining patience, his voice taking a sudden harshness that made the smaller boxer flinch, “nothin’ new.”

“Then why did you hesitate??”, he asked again, his tone crescendoing in pitch, shoulders hunching in on themselves. “Why spare a thought of mercy on me when would lose anyway, hm?”

Sandman’s frown lessened, settling into a firm line across his face, yet his thick eyebrows remained drawn together. The two lapsed into a tense silence, only broken by a commercial on the T.V. going on about healthcare.

“...you know I care about you,”, his eyes met Joe’s, sincerity held within them, “right?”

Despite his past resentment, Joe couldn’t help his softening features at the larger man’s words, shoulders slouching, his gaze dropping to the floor. The tears returned, and this time he didn’t bother holding back as they fell, sliding smoothly down his face and onto the floor. His cheeks burned a bright red.

Placing the ice pack on a nearby table, Sandman brought a hand to the Frenchman’s face, hesitating when he shied away at first, then wiped away the streaking tears that continued to fall from his face. His palm, as wide as it was, was nearly the size of Joe’s face, warm and calloused with deep grooves, such features expected from a man like him. Closing his eyes, Joe allowed his head to incline towards the hand, humming in content at its given comfort.

“And you ain’t weak, yer just”, he paused for a moment, “...soft.”

Joe’s eyes flicked upwards to meet the other’s, their gaze questioning. “Soft?”

Smirking, Sandman shifted the hand that cradled Joe’s head, using his index finger and thumb to pinch the fat of his cheek, earning a small squeak from the other. “Soft,”, he repeated, his tone more amusing.

The smaller boxer smiled, playfully jerking his head away from the offending appendage. “So mean…”, he pouted. Yet, slowly, his smile slipped into a frown, eyes softening. “I am...sorry, for yelling,'' he mumbled, gaze elsewhere, “it just, hurts, not being taken seriously, given my boxing record.”

“Tch, ‘dunno why”, Sandman said, “nearly a hundred loses and yer still kickin’? If it were me, I’d of quit long before that.” He smiled down at the Frenchman, radiating warmth and earnestness. “That’s what I like about ya, Joe. You just don’t know when to stop. It would almost be annoyin’ if you weren’t so damn cute.”

Joe’s face flushed red at the sudden flurry of compliments, a crooked grin splaying over his face. “I-I’m not cute”, he huffed, “I’m...intimidating.” Sandman grinned before stepping closer so that his body was only inches away from the other’s, leaning down, eye level to the other, placing a kiss to Joe’s thin lips. The Frenchman’s eyes widened, ears tinging red, yet it didn't take long for him to slowly melt into it. Placing his hand onto Sandman’s broad chest, he felt the rhythmic _thump thump_ of his heart, comparing it to his own racing pulse.

Pulling away, Sandman then spoke. “Alrighty, lemme run ya a bath. It’ll help those wounds. Use that ice pack for your eye, I’ll holler when your bath’s ready.” Joe only nodded dazedly, a small smile growing on his face. He always loved Sandman’s kisses. His heart grew tight at the sight of Sandman’s retreating back, watching with endearance as he made his way to their shared bathroom, wondering how he lucky he was to have someone like him.

_“Merci, mon amour…”_

**Author's Note:**

> i👏dont👏know👏how👏to👏write👏dialogues👏


End file.
